


She Loves Him

by SofiaSaysHi



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Olicity Summer Sizzle 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-23 06:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20003500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SofiaSaysHi/pseuds/SofiaSaysHi
Summary: What happens when the love you so freely give to another opens the door for your greatest fear to enter? This is a question with which Felicity struggles once Oliver returns home from prison.





	She Loves Him

**Author's Note:**

> My first Olicity fic that has been sitting in my brain for a bit. I always wondered more of what Felicity was thinking once Oliver returned home from Slabside considering her significant abandonment issues. 
> 
> Oh...and I own nothing :)

She loves him. This is an absolute truth...one that is woven into who she is. But it is not a simple truth...it is a complicated convoluted truth that at times leaves her battered and bruised. She wakes up some days wondering how she could love someone who could so easily destroy her. Lord knows, he has come close... multiple times.

Except....

He has saved her too...multiple times. In the obvious ways. The sword at her throat (granted she helped that time....like, a lot)...the syringe also poised there...and the bullets. God, the bullets...a memory that for many months would sneak up on her and leave her gasping for breath in horror and panic in the middle of the night, causing her to reach and search for him to be her anchor. And found him she had...every single time. Every. Single. Time. That was how he had saved her in other ways. Ways not always obvious to others. Or herself for that matter, until time had revealed it to her with subtle signs. Like when she found she could breathe easier or was finally able to shake the loneliness that had been such a constant beneath her bright sunny smile that nobody had suspected its ever persistent presence. Nobody but him that is...with his uncanny ability to read the parts of herself that were supposedly tucked away. 

Ultimately, that is why she finds herself faltering on their path to recovery. He knows her greatest fear. Knows it intimately. And he wound up delivering it to her doorstep wrapped up tight in a bright bow. Well, wrapped up tight in handcuffs to be exact. Then off she went...single mother...waitressing. Basically the exact opposite of what she had in mind when she left Vegas a lifetime ago. He did that. Brought her full circle to the life from which she had been running. Oh, with the added bonus of fighting for her life and the life of their child. Did her stint as a single parent make her appreciate her mother in a way she never anticipated? Of course. But she would have loved to have learned lessons of motherhood with him by her side. Not miles upon miles away (literally and figuratively) as he burned up in his own personal Hell. 

Angry. So angry at him for his choice. A choice he made in the darkest parts of his mind, refusing to see the other way. How many lectures of that topic have they had over the years? Countless. Yet she remembers them all. He does too. Yet still....here they are. So she falters. And rights herself. Only to falter again. Because she wants to rely on him. And on the absolute truth of loving him and being loved by him. But the bruises and scars make her hesitate. Do you continue to hand over the power of your own destruction while crossing your fingers that it won't happen again? Do you believe the promises made by another or do you believe the whispers in your head? 

She sees the way he looks at her. There is a hesitancy in his eyes...mixed with regret and doubt. So much doubt. She could smooth it away for him. Assure him. How many times has she said "always"? Certainly often enough. And she meant it each and every time. Except maybe she didn't realize the price of "always". The slow chipping away at her entire being as she waited for him to leave her again. Because the reality is...she knew he would. Sacrificing himself was simply a part of him...his essence, so to speak. Created years ago before they even laid eyes on each other and began their journey together. He had had his own journey, shaping him into this man she fell in love with. Ahhh...and there it was. The contradiction. How could she blame him for who he was with his self-sacrificing ways if she fell in love with him with eyes wide open? Acknowledging and accepting his flaws only a short time upon their introduction (ok....maybe accepting the flaws took a bit of time...and her loud voice...and walking away). The reality though is that she fell hard for him. Of course she had. She easily became so absolutely in awe of him...of his mission...his determination to rectify their corner of the world. And she challenged anyone who dared to speak ill of him in her presence. She shouted his accomplishments for them to hear...whether they wanted to hear it or not. Whether he even wanted her to do the shouting or not, for that matter. 

So who was she to judge him? She told him often enough she loved him as he was. Even if who he was could be her ruin. 

But still...she hesitates to assure him of the constant on which he had come to rely. Why? She racks her brain trying to decode her own reasons. It's almost as if she wants to hold back from him. Save a little something in the back of her pocket to pull out one day and say "A-ha....you nearly destroyed me but I forgave you...and now...well now you owe me". Owe her? Owe her what? And what kind of wife is she for wanting to hold something over his head in this manner? What kind of wife is she to have a secret pocket in the back of her brain where she holds court against his sins?

The kind of wife who is terrified...immobilized as it were. Cemented between knowing she loves him in immeasurable ways and knowing the damage such love could leave in its wake upon its departure. His departure. Of his own doing.

Tired. So tired. Her brain and her heart hurt. And she has had enough. More than enough actually as they continue this dance that they both know is happening yet pretend it isn't visible. Pretend it isn't creating even more damage as they ignore it's presence...allowing it to fester and grow in strength. It used to be so much easier to avoid, caught up as they were in finally being together again. Holding each other after spending what felt like a lifetime away from each other. And in a way...it HAD been a lifetime, considering the amount of change each had encountered along the way. How irrevocably different each of them were...new versions of themselves. Upon reflection of the changes, she sees that in her case it is a colder version. A darker...dimmer version. How could she be his light now when she barely felt the warmth herself?

Yet she wanted it...wanted to be his light again. Wanted to love him while letting go of that part of herself that struggled to forgive him. Wanted to hold him without wondering if it was the last time. Wanted to make love to him without the desperate feeling that she had to pour every ounce of herself into the act because who knew when it would happen again. If it would happen again. Wanted to give him peace and quiet...even when she wasn't quiet. (How the man found peace in her ramblings was beyond her comprehension...but she knew he did). Wanted to simply be with him. And simply BE, in general. 

She loves him. Undoubtedly. She loves the hero...the husband...the brother, father and friend. But more importantly, she loves the man. Her flawed, brilliant, stubborn, brave, willful....loving, oh so loving...man. And she looks at him now as he sits next to her....lost in his own thoughts. She wonders about those thoughts. Are they of the dance they have created and ignored these past few weeks? The dance that will end them if not faced with more bravery than any mission they navigated in the past? Or are they of those cold terrified moments he experienced in Slabside? Some of which she knew he would never share in fear of burdening her....or fear of voicing out loud memories he would prefer to bury. 

A choice needs to be made. By her. By them. But it ultimately needs to start with her as both know she is the one holding back. He won't broach the subject, tiptoeing around it as he has since his return. At least aside from the apologies which do continue...perhaps not as frequently as in the beginning when "I'm sorry" made up most of his dialogue. Second only to "I love you". That is the phrase that appears just as much today as it did upon their reunion. Every day he says it in a multitude of ways. Not just with words. By getting her coffee just right. By holding her hand while watching TV. By cooking her meals that make her hum with their deliciousness. By allowing her snide remarks to slide by with a simple nod of acceptance. By making her moan his name over and over again until she lays exhausted beside him. 

She has evolved. Changed. However, there is simply no denying the part of herself that has remained, persisted even in her darkest moments of doubt. She loves him. And she would rather have this life with him, however long or short it may be, than a life with any other man. She chose him years ago...and will continue to choose him, wholeheartedly. The scars are present. But they don't have to be the sole means of navigation as the future looms. 

It is time. She says his name softly...and of course he looks at her immediately, a question in his eyes. She doesn't say anything at first. Just looks at him. Sees him. Every bit of him. This man she calls her own. This man who calls himself hers. Only hers. The question in his eyes escalates at first. But then he just looks at her. Sees her. Every bit of her. This woman he calls his own. This woman who calls herself his. Only his. And she sighs...alight with the knowledge that they belong to each other...with each other. 

And she lets go....while holding on to him. Always.


End file.
